by Dave Warner
'I could speak horse; I just chose not to.'
Leila thanked her lucky stars it was so dark in here. Her mane was matted, her tail was limp and the moisturiser Charlotte had applied to her muzzle had evaporated. Not the circumstances a girl wanted to be seen by a hot stallion.
'So tell us about the movie. What happens?'
'Wish I knew. It's all been kind of a rush and I haven't seen a script yet.'
'So you don't know if it's any good.'
'It'll be good. Honey Grace has written all my movies and she's a really good writer. The script is the least of my worries.'
Fifteen years ago, at the age of twenty-six, Honey Grace had arrived in Hollywood from her small home town in Pennsylvania where she had been quite successful in writing for local theatre. She had started doing the rounds to find work as a screenwriter and realised very soon that first she needed an agent. But no agent wanted to take on yet another out-of-work writer so she had worked as a sales assistant at a second-hand clothing store while entering every script competition she could find. Nothing happened for her. At the age of thirty-three, after seven long years of frustration, she gave up her notion of ever being a screenwriter.
And then Oscar entered her life.
Oscar was a large ginger tomcat who she had found foraging near her apartment block. Actually back then, Oscar was a wee kitten, but wild; hence the name Oscar after Honey Grace's favourite playwright, Oscar Wilde, not after the statuette that dominated so many Hollywood thoughts year in and year out. Oscar began to take food from her but always maintained a safe distance until, one day, he followed her back to her apartment where he had stayed ever since. Apparently Oscar had deemed her worthy of sheltering him. The day after Oscar's arrival she had received a phone call from a producer named Joel Gold. He had been a judge on a competition she had entered and felt her writing would perfectly suit a little movie he was doing about a girl and her horse. Oscar had brought with him a change in fortune. Honey Grace wrote Thrills and Spills, the first of the hit movies starring Leila and Sarah-Jane. Dressage To Kill and more hits followed until that dreadful incident where Leila had been kidnapped. Unfortunately the most recent of the movies she had written for Mr Gold had lacked the chemistry Leila brought to the screen. It had not been successful and Honey was considering perhaps now was the time to try that novel she had always wanted to write. Then last month Mr Gold had contacted her and asked her to have a script ready for Leila's return. Honey had been very excited at the prospect of writing again for Leila and Sarah-Jane, and with Oscar curled up beside her, she quickly hit her stride, tapping away at her computer, creating a fun adventure in which Leila and Sarah-Jane would defeat a wildlife smuggling operation and Leila would wind up being elected Governor of California.
Everything was going smoothly. She was already nearly a third of the way there and though the deadline was tight, she had no doubt she would finish the screenplay in time.
She banged on the tin of tuna fish, expecting Oscar to hurtle in from the balcony where he loved to sun himself. Oscar did not appear. She banged again.
Still no Oscar.
Honey took herself out to her balcony and looked for him. He wasn't there. She could have sworn that's where he'd been this morning but possibly she'd been too engrossed in her writing to notice him slip out. Oscar would often prowl the halls of the apartment building looking for the odd tickle or treat from the other tenants. Honey opened the door to the hallway expecting to see Oscar waiting on the mat. Nope, not there either. She wasn't perturbed. When he was hungry Oscar would return. In the meantime she had best get on with her story. Perhaps she should have a scene where Sarah-Jane rode Leila into the White House? Maybe dress Sarah-Jane as George Washington? That could be fun.
Fun, it was going to be real fun.
You couldn't see it in the dark of the cargo hold, but Leila had a smile the size of Texas on her face as she thought about what awaited that painful and precocious Sarah-Jane. The brat who loved to dig her boot heels into Leila unnecessarily, who always insisted on a bigger trailer, would get her comeuppance big time. Leila had not been surprised that Charlotte had declined to assist her in what was a necessary part of establishing the pecking order on any film shoot. The kid was too nice. Leila just had to do it herself as best she could. She shut her eyes again. Only another nine hours to LAX, glazed doughnuts and that wonderful smog.
Apart from that moment when the jet accelerated and first lifted off the runway, and later on a few bumps that had her swivelling to see if the flight attendants looked worried, Charlotte was fine. Looking out of the window, seeing the city far below like some Lego town, was actually fun. While Miss Strudworth snored beside her, Charlotte tried to watch the movie on the little screen on the back of the seat in front of her. It wasn't easy. The problem was Giles, the boy in front. He was an A-grade pain. As soon as Giles had got on the plane it had started. He had opened the luggage locker above and thrust a bunch of heavy tourist purchases right onto Charlotte's small personal bag. His items included a mass-produced set of boomerangs, a miniature Uluru – although still clearly heavy from the way he strained to get it up there – and a carved wooden kangaroo. He then sat down with the grace of a concrete block hitting a footpath. Charlotte immediately checked her bag to find the delicate papier-mâché model of the Sydney Harbour Bridge she had bought for Mr Gold was crushed flat, and the snow dome she had bought for Leila's friend Paris was cracked. Fortunately Hannah's camera was still intact. A packet that, apparently, contained tea bags, which Charlotte assumed Miss Strudworth must have slipped into her bag, had also been battered.
Giles spent the next two hours whining for treats from his mother but whatever she handed over didn't satisfy him. From the look of Giles a forced diet wouldn't have done any harm. He was constantly reclining his seat then sitting it upright, then reclining it again, and he hit the attendant button every five minutes, asking for more soft drink. He played some video game so loudly that even with the volume on her earphones up high, Charlotte had trouble hearing the movie. Mercifully, he seemed to grow tired when they turned out the cabin lights and Charlotte had fifteen minutes of uninterrupted viewing pleasure. Sadly, it didn't last. He was now twisting and turning in his seat. It seemed to be contagious. His mother was beginning to jerk around quite violently. What was going on?
Charlotte took out her earphones and now she could hear Giles and his mother muttering and moaning.
'Ow, youch!' cried the woman.
'Something's biting me!' yelled the annoying Giles.
Good, thought Charlotte, payback.
Giles reached up and pressed the attendant button. Since the plane had gone dark no attendants had been by. Charlotte wouldn't blame them keeping a wide berth from Giles.
By now Giles was out of his seat and stomping. Passengers across the aisle began a similar ritual. Soon at least a dozen people were in various stages of wriggling distress and attendant call buttons were going off everywhere.
It was then that Charlotte looked across at the sleeping Strudworth. Her mouth was agape, her nose pointing at the ceiling. And right on the tip of that nose was a wart . . . a moving, red wart. Charlotte craned closer for a better look.
It couldn't be what she thought it was . . . what on earth would a fire ant be doing on a plane?
Her heart seized. Her eyes travelled up towards the luggage compartment above her head. Even in the dim light she could discern the moving mass and the trail sneaking its way to all areas of the plane.
Leila!!!!!!
Now, everywhere, people were shrieking and whacking their legs, doing crazy dances. Attendants were converging on the scene but hadn't reached the epicentre of the problem, as passengers on the perimeter seized them first.
'I want help,' yelled Giles.
Nobody seemed to have noticed yet where the ants were coming from. It was not in Charlotte's nature to be deceptive, nor to shy from whatever punishment was duly hers, but on this occasion she made an excepti
on. With everybody else distracted she opened the locker. Sure enough the ant colony appeared to be streaming from the tea packet in her bag. Clearly it had not been placed there by Miss Strudworth but by a certain sneaky quadruped named Leila. Charlotte's eyes expanded to the size of golf balls. There were still as many ants in the box as had already left it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the head flight attendant arrive. She did the only thing a sensible girl could. She bravely took the box and shoved it inside the pouch of Giles' wooden kangaroo. Then she shut the compartment, brushed a couple of stray ants from herself and resumed her seat. All around the cabin, attendants in masks were hastily fumigating.
The stern flight attendant sprayed Giles all over. Giles protested loudly.
'Poo, that stinks, that's making my eyes water, it's making my tongue swell . . .'
The flight attendant looked as though he would be delighted if Giles' tongue kept swelling and choked him.
'I'm trying to help you,' said the attendant. 'It appears there are fire ants on the plane.'
Giles' mother announced that it was appalling. She was going to contact the media. That inspired Giles.
'I'll put it on my blog.'
Yeah, big readership, I'll bet, thought Charlotte.
'The airline should refund the fares,' added the mother.
The flight attendant declared that prior to embarkation the aircraft had been free of any 'pests'. He shot a close look at Giles as he said this, implying Giles himself belonged in that category.
The word 'embarkation' clearly stumped Giles. He wrinkled up his nose and grunted, 'Huh?'
The flight attendant translated. 'The ants were brought on by a passenger.'
Giles' mother opined the offending passenger should be given a parachute and shoved out of the plane. It was at that moment the attendant noted the ants streaming from the locker.
He lifted the locker and surveyed the scene. Charlotte's pulse was racing. Fortunately Miss Strudworth was still snoring.
'Hmm. Think I've found the culprit,' said the attendant, bringing out the wooden kangaroo. 'Who does this belong to?'
Charlotte watched many pairs of angry eyes focus on the scene. Giles went as red as a beetroot and stammered, 'That's . . . mine.'
His mother shot a withering look at him. The flight attendant said, 'I am afraid I will have to destroy this item.'
The mother looked ashamed.
'And in future your names will be placed on a watch list. You'll have to arrive early before check-in so the contents of your baggage can be thoroughly investigated.'
The other passengers clapped.
The flight attendant was emboldened. 'Would you like me to fetch that parachute for your son, madam?'
Giles' mother apologised profusely for the actions of her 'nitwit' son. Giles shrank visibly. The total humiliation of Giles had Charlotte grinning from ear to ear. It almost made it worth sparing Leila a lecture.
Chapter 2
By the time the plane landed and Charlotte and Miss Strudworth had made it through immigration, nearly twenty-four hours had passed since leaving Australia. Charlotte estimated she'd had three hours sleep, tops. Her head felt foggy, her feet slow. Miss Strudworth, on the other hand, had slept almost the entire time and seemed quite sparky. They reclaimed their luggage and emerged through big swing doors into the arrivals area. Charlotte's eyes immediately fell on a plump man with a round face and thinning hair. This was Joel Gold. Waving effusively, he called them over.
'Charlotte, Caroline.' He shook their hands warmly. 'My chauffeur, Fernando, will take your luggage.'
He indicated a man with a very neat moustache and wearing an immaculate uniform. Fernando bowed to them.
'Pleased to meet you, ladies.'
Mr Gold was already barrelling towards the exit, enquiring after their flight.
'Uneventful, really,' said Strudworth, who remained ignorant of the fire-ant episode. They pushed out of the arrivals hall into a warm day. Charlotte was so excited to think she was actually in America! Mr Gold was telling her he had passes for her to Excelsior Studios, the makers of the Leila movies, and also Universal Studios and Disneyland.
'Anywhere you want to sightsee, Fernando and the car are at your disposal.'
Car was an understatement. Charlotte gaped at the size of the shiny black limousine. It seemed about half the length of the plane they had just got off. Fernando loaded their luggage into the boot as Joel Gold held the door open for them.
'Leila's plane is touching down now at the freight area. We'll go straight there.'
Leila felt the wheels touch down and bump across the tarmac. She was home sweet home and part of her felt like dancing on the ceiling. The other part, however, was not ready to celebrate. The anxiety that had slipped away during the flight began to creep up through her hooves again. Maybe this was a bad mistake. Perhaps she should have stayed in Australia, kept working on the jumping game? There was nothing worse than a starlet who didn't know her use-by date.
The plane came to a halt.
'Good luck on the movie,' called Warrior in Horswegian.
'You too with the equestrian competition.'
She felt a pang deep inside. It would have been so much easier in so many ways if she and Charlotte were just over here to jump. Now there's something she never would have thought before. One consolation would be teaming up with her parrot pal, Feathers. He had been her best friend for so long. In fact only he and Charlotte knew her most closely guarded secret: she could speak human. Mr Gold, the director Tommy Tempest and even Sarah-Jane all thought she was just a horse smart enough to read their body cues. Leila was happy to let them think that. She had no desire to wind up in some laboratory, being ogled by a bunch of egghead scientists. If there was any prodding and jabbing to be done, she preferred to leave that to the studio masseur!
There was a rumbling and a clanking of chains as the back of the plane lowered and light streamed in. People in overalls entered. Leila was finally able to see Warrior. Lord, that was a handsome coat stretched over those taut muscles! A handler slipped on a bridle and began to lead her out. She looked back and nodded at Warrior. He threw his head around, blew through his nostrils and whinnied loudly. Translated, he'd just told her to break a leg. She assumed he meant it in the theatrical way.
Leila started down the steel walkway. After so many hours in the dark, the light was blinding. But even though it forced her eyes shut, she was able to smell that wonderful odour of thick smog mixed with gasoline, Eau de L.A. Her reverie was interrupted by screaming.
'There she is!'
'It's Leila.'
'Welcome home, babe.'
Leila flicked open her eyes to find a sizeable crowd gathered behind barriers. There were people of all ages – mainly young girls in Leila T-shirts and caps but older men and women too. Flashes erupted as people took pictures of their favourite star. Whatever anxiety she felt was exterminated. Leila drank in the adulation, the whistles, the applause – ah, just how she remembered it, only sweeter now. She found an extra inch or two by straightening her neck to the max, and strutted towards the bunched media giving her biggest and brightest smile for the TV cameras from Entertainment Tonight.
'I think she's slimmer than before,' remarked one reporter.
Leila did a model half-turn, giving the cameras a nice shot of her firm butt. She preened, offering the other cheek, smiling a coquettish smile. It felt good to be a star. Suddenly there was movement among the media. They began to split apart, the cameras spun away from Leila.
'Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, let Sarah-Jane through, please.'
Bodyguards, who looked like something out of the President's secret service squad, ushered forward the diminutive figure of Sarah-Jane Sweeney. Leila's coquettish smile evolved into a sneer. The little vixen was upstaging her return! How Leila wished she had that packet of fire ants. Sarah-Jane's people pushed aside the barrier and she ran and draped an arm around Leila's neck. Fake tears spluttered from her eyes. A h
undred cameras clicked.
'Leila, you gorgeous girl, have you missed me?' gasped Sarah-Jane. Leila recognised the line from Hot to Trot, their fourth movie. Sarah-Jane said it with exactly the same inflection.
'Like a nail in my hoof,' Leila wanted to answer.
The competitiveness had begun already. Sarah-Jane couldn't even let Leila have a small moment of glory, she had to horn in. Leila tried to stomp on her foot but Sarah-Jane was too quick and stepped out of the way.
'Look everybody, Leila wants to dance with me.'
Sighs filled the air. Leila gritted her teeth. Where were those fire ants when you needed them?
Charlotte and Miss Strudworth followed Mr Gold through the crowd. Charlotte immediately recognised the girl with her arm around Leila's neck as Sarah-Jane. She could imagine what Leila thought about that. Sarah-Jane might be Charlotte's age but she was wearing make-up and was clearly used to cameras and crowds. Mr Gold ushered Miss Strudworth through the barriers. Charlotte went to follow but felt the firm hand of one of Sarah-Jane's security people on her chest.
'Stay outside the barrier, miss.'
Charlotte didn't know what to do. Joel Gold and Strudworth were already striding on without her. She felt a sudden stab of disappointment as she looked over to see Leila with Sarah-Jane joined moments later by Mr Gold and Miss Strudworth. For the first time it occurred to Charlotte that maybe this would not be a fun time with Leila, and worse, that Leila, once back in the world of show business, might want to stay.
Leila was settling in to a rhythm now. The cameras came in for close-ups and she hammed it up, fluttering her eyelids the way she did in the movies whenever they gave her a 'love interest' – invariably some wussy white gelding named Lightning. She even did the old arabesque for them, a relatively simple manoeuvre that required her to stretch and hold her near side foreleg off the ground at the same time as her off-side hind leg.
'Aaaaah,' she heard the crowd gasp. One of Sarah-Jane's assistants handed over a magnificent chocolate cake that Sarah-Jane held out towards Leila.